Into the wolf's den

[etiainen]

<<< PLANET LEEDS >>>

“Leeds…I never would’ve imagined I’d come back to this hellhole…I almost forgot about th’ warm an’ cozy feeling of having yer lungs eaten by smog…” he thinks to himself, as he tries hard not to cough every five seconds. It’s gotten even worse than what he remembers. Factories have been replaced by bigger factories. The visibility distance used to be farther than what it is now because of the bigger amount of exhaust fumes eating away the last rays of the stars. Even the last few square inches of dirt are now replaced by cold pavement.

He turns around and waves again at Vixen’s ship taking off back into space…
“Thank ye, lass… We shall succeed, dun’ worry.“ he thinks to himself… Time is short, and there’s not a second to waste, if Bret is to be saved with his fur still intact…Still, his face should stay concealed beneath his cape as well, just in case…

After buying a map and spending several hours in various transport shuttles, passing both industrial and residential zones, and, to his dismay, with not a sign of fauna or flora in sight, he reaches his destination: a small pub in a quiet, smelly alley on the outskirts of a waste reprocessing zone. He looks on his communicator once more, to assure it’s the place he is supposed to meet. Immediately upon entering, his nose is struck by the smell of tobacco and ale. He looks around the place, trying to find a familiar face, but to no avail, so he goes to the front.

“Oh well, might as well try the local ale…" he thinks to himself and turns to the barmaid: “Nata uimpi, curmi da!” he tells her with a smile, only to receive a surprised look by her and a few glares by the others.

“Still trying the Gaulish charms on the ladies, Drucocu?” he hears a warm, familiar voice. He turns right and sees a tall, middle-aged man with not a hair on his head. “Helena, the usual please. One more for my friend over here.”

“Simon? Well I’ll be! It’s been years.” Druce greets his old friend happily. “How are ya holdin’ up? I hear ye have recently joined th’ Green F…”

“Shh! Not so loud, mate! There are too many Planetform workers and miners in this pub for us to get out of here with our hides, should we get unwanted attention…” and he points to the pub’s Wanted board. Between a few Outcasts, Corsairs and Mollys, there are even a few Gaian pilots, including his ship, Nauticus.

“…So for the time being, you’d better use this” he gives Druce an identification card, already with his photograph, fake name and address.

“Thinkin’ about all details beforehand, I see,” Druce smiles. “Thank you, friend. But I think ya know that I didn’t come t’ this hellhole just fer a fake ID card”

“Yes, I believe you mentioned something about a ship?”

“Aye. I’m going t’ need a ship which doesn’t have SHOOT MEH ARSE written all over it, with as much firepower an’ armor as possible.” he grins.

“Hey hey hey now, I COULD try to find something for unnoticed movement, but what makes you think I’ll get you a war-machine?”

“It’s because I like to save arses,” Druce chuckles “just like I saved yours from the wolves back in th’ days when were used t’ race through th’ forests of Cambridge. Besize, Sim, yer th’ only one in lawful space I can fully trust.”

“I guess I do still owe you one for that” Simon chuckles. “So you need this for a rescue mission?”

“Aye, but I’ll rather tell ya th’ details somewhere with less ears…”

“Agreed! Finish up your beer and I’ll get my ship ready.”

“Ugh…No thank ye. Th’ stuff tastes like dog piss!” he pushes the jug aside, and as he passes around the wanted board, he leaves a small note just under the wanted bulletin of Nauticus, saying: “Extremely important to donate mead before attempting contact!”

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